


These Roads We Have Pursued (Unfinished)

by m0rtalitasi



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Almost Kiss, Dragon Age 2 Spoilers, Eventual Romance, M/M, Multi, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:10:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4366109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m0rtalitasi/pseuds/m0rtalitasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the destruction of Haven and the threat of the Breach, Varric has to call on the only person he knows who could help. As they reunite, the two of them both have to deal with memories and feelings from their past times in Kirkwall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: This is a very old work of mine that I am currently going over completely and will be completely reposting.

Letters from Hawke were rare enough as time went on and after the Breach they became as rare as diamond. There were many nights where Varric would pace the floor every night, unsure if he should start scaring Bethany or not. After a long wait, the odd scrap piece of paper would trickle in like melting ice. It was enough for Varric’s nerves to fray as he clung to every word and every wrinkle in the letters. All Hawke would say is that he was close. Varric would always sure to mention that he would be welcome in Haven. He could hear the laugh and see Hawke’s smile when he got the very simple, very plain “No thank you!” as a response. Even with the strain, Varric was thankful for what he had. His pockets were only so deep and his connections went only so far without people snooping into his affairs. Hawke’s letters coming in like a slow, lumbering heartbeat had to be enough.

Hawke himself was tired…and wet, uncomfortable, dirty, battered and bruised. He wanted to go to the Hanged Man for drinks and stumble back into his large, comfortable and dry bed. The only thing he really had for company at this point in time was a torn copy of Hard in Hightown. He would send out the odd, cryptic scrap of paper to anyone who knew how to find him and would get the odd, cryptic scrap of paper in reply. Except Varric. Varric, in all his verbosity, would send Hawke pages of what was happening in his life. The Breach was a growing concern, the mutters of the Herald of Andraste were true enough for Varric to take up this person’s cause and Varric was still checking on others who couldn’t contact Hawke. He had finally found a place to settle when he opened up a new letter from Varric. This cave was dry enough for comfort and he was able to conceal the entrance enough to start a fire. Hawke settled onto the hard, rocky floor and began to peel off layers of wet clothes. As he opened the letter, the single page response made him scowl and the words inside made his heart stop. Few words and scrawled coordinates.

_No formalities needed. Haven destroyed. Now at fortress. Skyhold. Corypheus is back. We need you. I need you._

There was a mad scramble to clothe himself again and to take out his map. His fingers ran across the damp parchment, looking for Skyhold on the map. He figured he was close enough to where he could be there in a matter of days, if he tried. If Varric needed him, then by the Maker he would get there as fast as he could.

Leaning back in his chair, Varric breathed a sigh of relief, brow furrowed with worry. No word from Hawke had reached him in the past few days, and he was beginning to start his cycle of worry once more. He closed his eyes and found himself dozing off from exhaustion in the past few days. The only thing that woke him was a gust of wind from his window. Shuddering, Varric stirred and opens his eyes.

“Fuck!”

Varric made a grab for Bianca until the figure in his window stepped into the soft light the waning fire was giving off. Tall and lean, many weeks of stubble and long shaggy hair, dirty and wet and smelling of everything bad about nature…Hawke. His Hawke. His Hawke, in the flesh, standing right there, with that stupid grin on his face. Varric stood dumbfounded and approached his friend, Hawke extending his arms and getting a shove in the chest for his troubles.

“How the hell did you get up here, or know where I was?” Varric said rather incredulously.

“You told me enough in your other letters. Just figure where the sun rose and count windows. You’re a good writer, Varric,” chuckled Hawke as he rubbed the spot where he had been shoved.

“Andraste’s ass, you look like a demon drug you through the underbrush,” Varric murmured as his eyes scanned over Hawke’s form. “I can set up a bath pretty quick for you. The water’s here. You need it more than me.”

Hawke was looking at Varric with that familiar twinkle in his eye, and Varric knew that the human was proud of his entrance. He always did have a flair for the dramatic. Varric began to probe the fire back to life and add more wood to it to begin the process of warming up buckets of water as Hawke started to strip off filthy layers down to his smallclothes. Varric couldn’t help but noticing that Hawke had lost weight and gained some scars, as well as the usual cuts and bruises that were along Hawke’s body. They sat quietly as Hawke at the bread, meat and fruit that Varric had brought up to his room to eat as he wrote, waiting for the water to boil. The silence was killing Varric but…what was he even going to say? He wasn’t that sure. 

When the water was warm enough for Hawke’s comfort, he slipped out of his undergarments and sank into the water. His eyes closed blissfully as he submerged himself as deeply as he could. Of course he reached for the Antivan soap that Varric liked, one of the few things of his belongings at Haven he was able to save. Something small, something inherently meaningless, but it meant enough for him to mind…but not mind. It might as well be Hawke’s. He earned it.

“Where have you been?” asked Varric as he looked at his hands, feeling it a bit inappropriate to gawk at his friend bathing. “You didn’t really tell me.”

“Around. I went by Lothering a bit to see how they rebuilt,” pausing, Hawke dipped his face into the water to rinse the dirt off of it and scrub it clean. “The farm is still gone, nobody really recognized me anyway. And I just stayed in the hills for the most part. And Varric?”

“Hm?”  
“You can look,” purred Hawke seductively as he stuck a soapy leg up into the air luxuriously. Varric snorted and rolled his eyes, setting his chin in his hand. “Fine, laugh at me. See if I put on any more shows for you.”

“Oh I’m sorry Hawke, the Exotic Wonder of the West,” replied the dwarf as sarcastically as possible, leaning back in his chair and laughing.

Hawke finally stretched leisurely and, looking at the state of the water, decided it was time to get out. He got out, stretched once more and began to dry himself off with the cloth that had been oh so primly folded on the side table next to the tub. Varric sighed, having no clothes to offer him that would fit, so he all he could do was offer a blanket to tie around his waist for modesty.

“Do you want to talk about…anything?” asked Varric helpfully, wincing when he saw Hawke pause.

“I just want to sleep. I’m honestly terrified Varric. Are there more blankets for me to use to sleep on the floor with, or do I have to choose between nudity and comfort?”

“Of course not! I didn’t ask for this Orlesian beast for me to have friends staying with me sleep in the floor!” Varric laughed as Hawke raised an eyebrow at him. “Not that I have many friends sleep in my room.”

“You just want to get into bed with me,” laughed Hawke as he flopped onto what he decided was his side of the bed. He crawled under the warm blankets and sighed with content, eyes already becoming heavy.

Varric chuckled and began to undress as well, changing into one of his own nightshirts and smallclothes. He crawled into the bed next to Hawke, gaze affixed to the ceiling. This was going to be disgustingly hard to explain to people. The Inquisitor was probably going to be mad with him. And Varric knew that the Seeker was going to have his skin. That could be dealt with later. Right now, he had his Hawke.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the return of Hawke, Varric helps his friend get comfortable in Skyhold and makes a plan to reveal the return of the Champion to the Inquisition.

_The stench of smoke was heavy in the air and I could feel heat of fire against my skin. Screaming, smoke burning my eyes, hand over my mouth and nose to try and breathe more easily. Carver and Bethany were in the hall, Bethany’s eyes wide and scared as Carver held his sword by his side._

_“Where’s Father?” Carver asked in an oddly calm tone, but his eyes were as wide as Bethany’s._

_“I don’t-“ I began. Crashing, yelling, sounds of fighting._

_Downstairs, downstairs, running. I heard a part of the roof collapse behind me as I ran. Father was in the main hallway…those creatures were swarming the house…swarming him. We were able to help him kill the intruding beasts and when the fight was over, he turned to look at us._

_“Get your mother and get out of here. I’ll find you in the wilds,” he said firmly._

_Those were the last words he ever spoke to us before a sword was driven through him. I heard Bethany scream and I yelled for everyone to run. I could hear Mother ask where Father was. She began to cry. We would die without him…_

“Hawke?”

Jerking awake, Hawke opened his eyes and quickly rubbed the sleep from them. Varric was looking at him, sitting up in the bed next to him, a look of worry across his face. Hawke chuckled and sat up as well, eyes flickering over Varric’s bare chest.

“I didn’t realize you slept in what the Maker gave you,” he said teasingly as he tried to smile to pass off what had happened.

“No, you’re not joking this away, at least until I ask what’s wrong. Do you want to talk about it?” Varric asked as his hand slowly went out to touch Hawke before he stopped himself.

Shoulders heaving with a sigh, Hawke shook his head and continued to rub his eyes. Varric watched him and his brow knit together in frustration and worry.  
“Alright. If you ever want to tell me, please do,” Varric said softly and stood. “And by the way, I wear pants to bed.”

Hawke laughed warmly and reached for his sheet from last night to clothe himself again. The creamy white sheet was wrapped over his shoulders like a poor cloak and he began to look around Varric’s room and idly snoop. Varric cleared his throat loudly and Hawke stopped just as he was about to go through the wrong stack of paper.

“Something to a cute lady?” teased Hawke. Varric made a few flustered sounds as he tried to start sentences as he snatched the papers from Hawke’s hand. “Oh, it must be!”

Varric glared at his friend, a soft pink creeping into his cheeks, and he held the paper close to his chest. Hawke continued to look through Varric’s belongings before sitting in a chair dramatically. He wrapped the sheet around him fully and began to look at Varric pitifully. Varric stopped shuffling through his paper and looked at Hawke, sighing softly.

“Are you hungry?” Varric asked as he smirked at Hawke, who simply nodded. “Well, I need to look for some food and I’m wanted for a briefing today.”

“Fancy,” replied Hawke casually. 

Varric set out enough things for Hawke to start getting ready to be at least presentable. He knew the vanity of his friend, and knew that Hawke wouldn’t want to be seen by anyone until he looked less like a cave dweller. Some balm for his wounds, Varric’s straight razor and some more clean water. Hawke waved at Varric as he exited the room and Varric felt secure when he heard the latch to his quarters click behind him. The staff may or may not know who Hawke is, but that’s something they would want to risk.

Breakfast was eaten quickly and he wasn’t particularly paying attention to the briefing that the inner circle received that morning. All he knew was that he wasn’t going anywhere today and that he was thankful for. Hell, he wasn’t even really required to do anything around the new fortress just yet. Cassandra didn’t trust him to be by himself around something important.

The kitchens knew how Varric usually liked to take some extra food to his quarters just in case he was deep in writing and missed usual meal times. The basket he asked for full of meat, fruit and cheese was a bit different than what he would usually get. Varric loathed grapes, ram’s meat and basic cheddar, but _Hawke_ liked them, so of course he asked for them. As he was returning from his day, which thankfully only took a few hours, he saw Cassandra from down the hall, close to his quarters. Of course she would want to talk and he didn’t want her near Hawke just yet.

“Varric!”

That sharp and pointed Nevarran accent caused his skin to crawl in guilt. It usually got that reaction from him anyway when he wasn’t hiding somebody that Cassandra had been searching for in his room. She approached him and stared down at him, eyes narrowed and judgmental already.

“I didn’t do it,” Varric said casually. Cassandra scoffed and shook her head, face softening.

“Varric…thank you for what you have done. Despite everything, I am glad that we have been fighting together. Your fighting in Haven was…” she looked strained, nose scrunched as if she was searching for words. “It was admirable.”

Varric stood surprised for a moment. The Seeker? Be nice to him? Well, that was something different. He smiled at Cassandra warmly.

“Thank you, Seeker,” he continued to smile and offered his hand to her to shake. “Friends? Or at least on better terms?”

“On better terms,” Cassandra agreed, Varric noting how intimidating her handshake was.

As she walked away from his quarters he watched her and sighed. Well. She was going to go back to hating the shit out of him when he finally told everyone what was happening. He walked down the hallway to the door of his quarters and scuffed his shoe on the door in a half-hearted knock. The door opened easily enough for Varric and inside was Hawke, more clean shaven, hair back and his clothing and armor looking cleaner. He looked like his old self, tall and strapping, intimidating yet there was that small smile constantly on his face. He was a handsome young man.

Handsome.

Wait, handsome?

“Is that for me?” Hawke asked as he began to pick through the basket of food anyway, interrupting Varric’s brief thought.. He sat back down and began to eat, the basket on his lap. He closed his eyes in content and sighed happily. “Oh, you’re a darling.”

Varric scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking at himself in his mirror. He looked old. He was tired looking and there were those few grey hairs he could see forming at his hairline. The fact he didn’t shave this morning didn’t particularly help.

“Quit preening, you’re beautiful just the way that you are,” Hawke teased thickly through a mouthful of apple. Varric snorted and shook his head, sitting down across from Hawke on his bed. “So. What are we going to do?”

“You know, I don’t know. I can’t keep you in my closet forever, like a secret,” Varric shrugged helplessly and sighed. “I guess I could say something tomorrow, if that would make you feel comfortable?”

“My comfort doesn’t matter at this moment. This is serious,” leaning forward and resting his arms on his legs, Hawke looked across the way at Varric. “Look, Varric, you may be afraid but I can help you. It’ll be alright. This Herald person won’t lay a hand on you.”

Yeah, because _that_ was who he was worried about and not Cassandra. Hawke stood and moved to sit next to Varric, a hand on his shoulder. He smiled at his friend and jostled him a bit, that wide, pearly smile shining down at his friend. Varric smiled weakly back, a sinking feeling taking over his stomach. He was going to regret these lies.

“Look, we’ll tell everybody tomorrow! People like me!” chuckled Hawke as he leaned against Varric. “It’ll be okay.”

“I’ll take your word on that one,” the dwarf smiled weakly, looking at Hawke and his sweet smile. Hawke touched his friend’s face gently and Varric chuckled. "You're a good man, I'm sure people trust you enough to believe you know what you're doing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the positive feedback and kudos on this work, I appreciate it greatly!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Varric and Hawke talk about how to present themselves to the Inquisition, it's time to look back on an old memory.

The door opened and the smell of smoke, alcohol and sweat assaulted Hawke’s nose as he entered the Hanged Man. Varric was at his usual table, a few strangers and familiar faces surrounding him alike. He walked up to Varric who gave him a tight hug, Hawke smelling alcohol on his friend’s breath already. Hawke took his seat next to Varric and Varric called over the new serving girl for another round of drinks.

“Your treat?” Hawke asked, eyebrow raised. “What’s this about, anyway?”

“I am starting to become an _actual_ writer, my friend!” boasted Varric as he puffed out his chest. “ _Hard in Hightown_ is becoming one of the more popular series in Kirkwall!”

Odd, Hawke thought, considering most of the people who could read in Kirkwall would such a thing too violent. Or maybe people in Hightown really liked stories about people punching thugs at night. That didn’t make any sense to him, but at least it made Varric successful and happy.

As they talked and drank, Hawke noticed there was a huge cluster of people who came by and talked with him. Shook his hand. Asked him for more details about stories from the Wounded Coast. As time went on, while he was flattered, Hawke was made…slightly uncomfortable.

“What is up with people today?” asked Hawke to the table as he turned around, continuing his drink.

“Oh! Has Varric not told you?” Merrill chirped from her seat, cup of water still clutched nervously in her hands. Varric gave her a look and sighed pointedly, making the young Dalish woman sag her shoulders. “Should I not have said anything?”

“No, Daisy, you weren’t. It was supposed to be a secret,” Varric said as he tried to ignore Hawke’s confused gaze. “It’s okay, though. We all let secrets slip sometimes.”

Merrill’s face brightened considerably and she smiled at Varric before going back to talking with Isabela.

“What’s she talking about?” Hawke narrowed his eyes in confusion at Varric, who began to laugh nervously.

“Well I may have told a few tales about you…nothing… _big_ …really…” mumbling into his flagon, Varric’s eyes were still avoiding Hawke’s and now seemed to be counting the spiderwebs in the rafters.

Puffing in frustration, he continued to drink and talked with the odd adoring fan. Fans. Thanks to Varric, he had _fans_ , because of course he would. Getting side eyes and hisses for being Fereldan, sympathetic to mages and acquainted with the Qunari wasn’t enough. Nope, he had to have epic tales to go with those things. His thoughts got away from him and became hazy as he continued to drink, eyes focusing just enough to watch Isabela push a shot glass into her cleavage as a confused Merrill watched in fascination. Varric hadn’t talked with him for most of the night, instead talking with other friends who smiled and drank and sang his praises.

“Look…you just have an interesting story, you know?” Varric finally slurred, leaning back into his chair. Hawke looked at him and raised his eyebrows in confusion. “I just think people need to hear it. Don’t you think other refugees need to hear it? Mages don’t need to hear that others support them openly and are compassionate?”

Quieted, Hawke stared into his drink, missing Merrill apparently having a successful enough try at body shots for Isabela to praise her. He tried to block out noise so he could hear Varric, looking at the dwarven man and smiling slightly.

“I…I suppose not. But why do you have to use my name?” Hawke still looked unhappy, a slight scowl on his face.

“I try not to! Not too many people do what you do, though,” chuckled Varric.

Well, he did have a point. He decided, well, might as well let Varric be creative and tell his stories. He continued drinking as long as others ordered them until he was drunk enough for Isabela and Varric to puppy eye Hawke into buying three more rounds. When he started drinking, though, meant he should probably stop. Even Merrill’s cheeks looked a little extra rosy, but she might have just been incredibly excited about the blustering and the volume instead of drinking.

“So are…are…a-are we fine?” Varric slurred later into the night, leaning into Hawke’s shoulder. Hawke mumbled something incoherent in return with a nod and Varric smiled happily. “Good.”

As the night continued, Isabela was dragged home by Merrill and the crowds began to die down. Candles sat in puddles of wax and the fires waned into embers. Hawke saw double often and he felt Varric’s strong hands under his arms hoisting him onto his feet. He heard Varric say something about going to his room and Hawke nodded.

The movement and walking made the Hanged Man spin and Hawke felt that he was going to be sick. He mumbled something before falling onto Varric’s bed. Varric crawled into bed beside him and looked at Hawke, who stared right back at him. Despite the spinning, Hawke could focus on his friend and the two began to inch closer to each other. They were warm enough from the alcohol but the lack of a fire made them realize how cold they were.

“I’m not mad,” slurred Hawke finally, breaking the silence and finally drowning out the faint hum of the remaining costumers.

“Good. I don’t like it when you’re mad,” replied Varric.

The two laughed at each other slightly and Hawke inched closer to Varric. Varric could feel his heart pound in his chest as he realized how close Hawke was to him, a small and anxious smile on his face.

_Kiss him. Just kiss him._

Hawke’s hands were shaking and he prayed Varric wouldn’t notice. It seemed as if he didn’t. He just needed to get closer to Varric. Closer. Just…a bit…closer.

_Kiss him._

Their noses were just barely touching and Varric reached to grab Hawke’s trembling hand. Hawke’s stomach lurched one proper time and he had to sit up to retch into the chamber pot. Varric sat up and wobbled over to the water pitcher, giving a glass of room temperature water to Hawke, who accepted it gladly. He groaned as his stomach cramped and he flopped back onto the bed. When Varric settled down next to him again, Hawke mumbled something and curled up next to Varric with a hand on his chest. Varric set his arm around Hawke and the two drifted off to sleep.

In the morning with pounding headaches, they didn’t question why they woke up in each other’s arms. Best not to talk about it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Hawke's introduction to the Inquisitor and Cassandra's confrontation, Hawke's angry at Varric for not caring about himself.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, _shit_. The Inquisitor (that title was still leaving an odd feeling when Varric thought about it) had been warm and kind to Hawke, something that had not been expected due to the secretive behavior, but that was just Varric’s fault. He sat in his chair in the main hallway, elbows propped up on the table and face buried deeply into his hands.

He was confused, guilty and relieved. He had kept Hawke safe, but he had lied to his friends…to save a friend. Or at least to possibly save a friend. Varric was unsure of what would happen to him now with his betrayal out. Betrayal. A fitting word and yet it didn’t feel like that. He didn’t betray Hawke.

That was all that mattered. Even if it meant his skin. 

Sunlight was a welcome friend after being in caves and swamplands for months on end. Hawke was lounging outside in grassy commons happily. He kept his eyes closed, hands behind his head like a pillow. There was a feeling of being watched, something that made him uncomfortable, but every time he looked he would only see a quick blur in the corner of his eyes. Shy child, maybe?

The mountain ground was cold and the grass yellowing and sparse, but it was enough for Hawke to imagine he was back home. Back home, sun on his face, Carver yelling at him to actually work and Bethany laughing as she came out of the barn. With a yawn and stretch, Hawke stood and looked around at his surroundings. He looked across the way and squinted, unsure if he could see Varric entering a building or not. Maybe, if it was Varric, he should go check on his friend. But nothing bad could happen to Varric here, though?

“How could you?” barked the Seeker angrily, face flushed a bright red and lips curled back in a snarl. “How _dare_ you? I had thought-I had _hoped_ -that you had stopped being a dishonest, lying cur! We needed Hawke!”

“Your words cut deep,” Varric replied shortly and smoothly. He stood there, a table in between them and unarmed, feeling somewhat unsafe. Cassandra was pacing back and forth like she seemed to do when she was beyond angry. “And you know what, Seeker? We needed Hawke. But Hawke needed _me_ and I…I needed him!”

Huffing, Cassandra walked up to him, Varric backing away from her warily. But before he could even react, she lunged and the punch landed on his nose. She swung at him again and he ducked before running to a different table to hide behind.

“You lied to us!” Cassandra yelled as she approached him again. She punched again and this one only lightly connected on his shoulder, but it still smarted.

The sound of footsteps up the steps gave Varric a bit of hope and Cassandra stopped her assault momentarily. The Inquisitor stood there, wide eyed and opened mouthed, before his expression turned into one of shock into anger.

“What are you two doing?” he demanded, looking back and forth in between Cassandra.

“He lied to us!” said Cassandra incredulously. Varric found himself wincing. Even with blood down his nose, he was worried the Inquisitor would side with Cassandra. It was what he deserved.

“There’s no need to assault him! Varric was protecting a friend, you were doing your job. But it’s _over_. This is not going to happen ever again. Understood?” the Inquisitor snapped. He looked at Varric as well, who felt his shoulders sag. “Do you both understand?”

“Yes…” Varric mumbled as he stared at his shoes, feeling like a child who had been caught doing something wrong.

He heard Cassandra and the Inquisitor talk (and Cassandra apologize…to the Inquisitor). He needed a drink. He didn’t care how late or early it was, Varric Tethras was getting a fucking drink. Haven’s Rest was quiet enough, something he appreciated, even the sound of music would be grating on his nerves. He wanted to stay quiet, by himself, in a corner and stay drunk. He was a liar, a no good person, a-

“Varric?!”

Picking up his head, Varric saw Hawke sitting at a table in the corner. He was already in the process of standing and he saw the look of anger and confusion on his face.

“Are you bleeding?” asked Hawke incredulously as Varric sat down, glaring a bit when Varric chuckled and shrugged his shoulders apathetically. “This isn’t funny. Did you run into a door or did somebody punch you?”

“I did get punched in the face,” Varric shrugged again and rolled his eyes as Hawke began to wipe away the blood from the dwarf’s upper lip. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I’m going to,” grumbled Hawke as he cleaned Varric’s face. When Varric had been preened enough, Hawke leaned back. A pink flush was creeping into his skin either from rage or drink. “Who did this?”

“Well, the Seeker was a bit miffed that I lied for you and where you were,” Varric sighed as he leaned back in the chair.

Hawke bristled and opened his mouth to say something, but was silenced by Varric’s hand. It took a while for the waitress to stop flirting with one of Bull’s boys to get his drinks, but they got their orders for drinks soon enough and Hawke continued to quietly huff and be angry about what had happened. The blood had stopped flowing, the other punch had stopped smarting and Cassandra wasn’t in the building, so obviously it meant it was out of mind for Varric. Or at least that’s what he tried to show. When the cool ales were set down in front of them, Hawke took a big swig of his and groaned.

“How does this not _bother_ you?” Hawke finally snapped.

Varric sighed and shook his head, looking over the rim of his flagon at Hawke. The younger man’s face was still flushed and his lips were thin and white in frustration.

“It just doesn’t. She told me everything I already knew,” replied Varric coolly. “I know I’m a liar and dishonest. I know what I do is usually wrong and selfish.”

Hawke’s eyes narrowed and Varric noted the white knuckled grip on the human’s drink.

“It doesn’t bother me, why does it bother you?” Varric asked with a sigh.

Hawke slammed his flagon onto the table in frustration, face turning an even deeper shade of red.

“Because I _care_ about you!” Hawke yelled firmly. "Don't you understand? Can I not be upset that you got punched?"

The background noise in the bar died down and a few eyes fell on the two. Varric’s eyebrows shot up and he stared at Hawke rather pointedly. Hawke stood up abruptly, eyes narrowed, and stormed out of Haven’s Rest. Varric looked around and watched as people’s gazes turned away from him when he made eye contact. He sighed and went to the door to watch as Hawke walked away in anger.

“Well, shit,” sighed Varric wearily.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their argument at Haven's Rest, Varric finds Hawke to make ammends.

Rubbing his eyes, Varric approached his room and apprehensively opened the door. Hawke was sitting on the floor by Varric’s bed, knees tucked to his chest and face in his hands. At the sound of the door opening, Hawke looked up at the perceived intruder. The color had gone from his face and he looked calmer. Hawke stood up awkwardly and sat on the bed, legs crossed idly as he looked at his hands.

“Are you alright?” Varric asked as he looked at Hawke, who was still looking at his hands. 

“No,” muttered Hawke as he looked up at Varric.

“Why did you get so mad?” Varric put a hand on Hawke’s back as he spoke.

Hawke sighed heavily and looked at Varric properly. He smiled at his friend and settled onto the bed more comfortably, legs curled under him.

“I’m always protective of you, you know that. Because you were of me,” explained the human softly.

Varric’s hand still hadn’t left his body.

Not that Hawke minded. Hawke never really minded.

“Oh, Maker’s breath, do you remember that one time at the Hanged Man when somebody actually punched me?” Varric laughed. “The last time I got into a bar fight, really.”

Hawke cracked a smile and actually chuckled. He scratched his head awkwardly and his ears turned red. He looked at Varric, who gave him a knowing look, and Hawke chuckled properly. A big brute of a drunkard at the Hanged Man had come up to Varric asking if he knew anything about the Rivaini woman who came around from time to time. Varric said yes, of course, that was his friend. A few misplaced comments about Isabela’s anatomy later and Varric was a bit angry and said some words. A few punches to the face later and the drunk ended up with a blade to his throat and Hawke glaring at him with a downright evil look in his eye.

“I’ve always protected you,” Hawke said warmly as he went to smooth back some of Varric’s hair. His hand paused in mid-air and it went to his own hair to preen.

“I’ve looked out for you, too. You’re a good friend, Hawke,” Varric replied as he finally folded his hands in his lap.

Hawke reached to hug Varric, who accepted it warmly, and the two embraced for...forever, really. It felt like it. The few times they had ever really shown physical affection made Hawke feel safe and secure.

_Just hold on,_ a little voice said in the back of Varric’s head. _Don’t let him go again._

They pulled back and Varric felt a twinge deep in his chest as his hands rested on Hawke’s arm.

_Please don’t let go._

With a cough, the two men parted and shuffled awkwardly. They looked around and Hawke stood up and began to pace nervously. He wasn’t used to being able to just lounge like this. Hawke hadn’t lounged in a long, long time and it was making him nervous.

“Are you hungry?” Varric asked.

“Yes!” said Hawke suddenly, almost jumping to agree.

The sun began to slowly set over Skyhold and the servants began to bustle around lighting candles and lanterns, or depositing firewood by the doors of private quarters after stirring the fires in the main halls. As people began to retire the hallways became quieter and quieter. Except for two sets of footsteps and the odd childish chuckling coming from Varric and Hawke as they slunk down the halls.

Varric opened the doors for the kitchen for Hawke who slid inside like he was going to commit some grand theft. To his credit, he was used to Bodahn hustling in after him reminding him to _not_ eat any cake before dinner, for fear of ruining his appetite. The cooks at Skyhold were used to people coming in after missing dinner. Plus they were glad it wasn’t Cole coming by to leave trails of sugar or Sera spelling out rude things in the flour for the bakers to find in the morning.

As he gathered bread and jerky in his arm, Varric’s eye caught Hawke staring at a few bottles of wine. The two men looked at each other and Hawke smirked.

“To make up for me not giving you those drinks I promised earlier today,” Varric offered. It was cheap wine and smelled like gasoline, nothing of note and nothing Josephine would be mad about later on. “Grab a few bottles and we can head back.”

The fire in Varric’s room was already soft, muted embers from somebody coming in to start a fire and leaving. As Hawke sat down in a chair, struggling to open the wine bottle now firmly in between his legs, Varric stirred the flames awake again before turning to Hakwe with a chuckle. The human was cursing to himself and swearing under his breath until Varric very gingerly took the bottle from his grasp.

_Pop._

“I made it easy for you,” Hawke scoffed as he leaned back in his chair, pulling an apple from his pocket. He scanned it for bruises and rubbed it on his sleeve before biting into it. “Glasses?”

Varric looked around and sighed in frustration. Of course not. The two exchanged glances and shrugged faintly. Not the first time they had shared cheap one out of the bottle with one another, it wouldn’t hurt. Hawke winced a bit at the flavor. Sickly sweet wine that still had a stiff taste of alcohol under it wasn’t a new thing to him, but between fine wines in Hightown and not drinking on the run the taste was unexpected.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” asked Varric as he sat down next to Hawke. He took a swig of it before handing the bottle back to his friend.

“I’m better, if that’s what you’re asking,” replied Hawke as he looked at Varric. There was some slight bruising on his face from the run in with the Seeker. “Are you?”

Varric chuckled, mumbled some excuse about how he’d been worse and fell quiet. Hawke watched his friend as they drank, eyes scanning his features. He had never really noticed how long Varric’s eyelashes were and right now they lay light on the dwarf’s ruddy colored skin. He looked at the bottle when it was passed back to him and he laughed. Varric started slightly and looked across at his friend.

“What’s so funny?” he muttered and leaned back in his chair before reaching for some of the food they had gotten.

“We bicker like a married couple!” Hawke exclaimed before putting on a falsetto. “Oh, Varric, did you get into another scrap? Think of the children!”

Varric laughed heartily and threw his head back. He looked at Hawke, chin in his hand, and smirked.

“Well, I wouldn’t get into these scraps if you just supported my writing!” Varric retorted in mock offense.

Hawke put his hand over his heart.

“You genuinely wound me!” he said incredulously. “I have supported your writing!”

“True,” Varric nodded as he took the wine bottle from Hawke. Empty. “Do you want more? I’m opening a bottle, don’t make me be a lush by myself.”

If somebody had passed the door to Varric’s room later in the night, they would have heard peals of laughter and the odd clinking of bottles. The fire was crackling softly and the moon illuminated the rest of the room as Hawke and Varric sat in the floor. Two empty wine bottles littered the floor and the two men had been eating clumsily as they drank and talked.

“And when we went to the Chantry the first time-“ chortled Hawke before he took another drink of wine.

“Your mother looked like one of the Sister’s robes her face was so red!” finished Varric with a laugh. “We were hungover and had gotten back from the Wounded Coast. Bloody and boozed up, best time to go to service."

“She yelled at me. That dwarf not influencing me the right way,” Hawke sighed when he finished speaking and trailed off. “I miss my mother.”

As he finished speaking, Hawke slumped against Varric. A heat rose in Varric’s chest and he looked down at Hawke, noticing a fine scar across his cheek as he looked at his companion. He put his arm around Hawke’s shoulder, looking at his friend in concern when Hawke looked up at him.

“You still have Bethany,” offered Varric. Any mention of the younger Hawke (the dear, darling, beloved sister Hawke) was enough to make his friend happy. “And you’ve got me!”

“I do!” agreed Hawke happily. He looked at his friend and smiled. “You’re my dearest friend, Varric.”

Their words and thoughts faded slowly and their eyes remained focused on one another. They smiled and chuckled and shuffled, Hawke pushing into Varric’s side as they got closer. Varric’s leg twitched when he felt Hawke’s hand rest on his knee, but he didn’t mind the slight shock. Hawke leaned forward, eyes hooded from being tired and drink, and his tongue ran over his lips quickly.

_Do it now,_ that tiny, annoying, drunk voice peeped in Varric’s head. _You’re so close. It’s a good decision._

Before he could even lean in, Hawke kissed his and Varric felt his body freeze. His beard was scratchy and their hands were rough on each other’s skin and they were so awkward kissing and it was perfect. Heat rose in Varric’s chest and he felt Hawke’s fingers thread through his hair, blond strands falling out of its tie. Their lips parted suddenly and Hawke sat back, eyes wide.

“I-I’m so sor-“ Hawke began, stammering as his face grew red.

Varric shook his head quickly and kissed Hawke again with more force. Hawke’s hands shook and he leaned into Varric’s body, an unsure hand reaching to touch Varric’s neck. The touch was whisper soft and gentle across his skin, the tips of Hawke’s fingers tracing veins and running down to touch his chest. This was it, this was perfection, Varric knew what he wanted. After struggling and searching for years, he found what made him fill bliss.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Varric as they parted again for air, forehead pressed against Hawke. “I’m sorry this took so long.”

“I forgive you…” Hawke’s voice trailed off once more as Varric kissed him again. A soft moan escaped him and he leaned back again. “This is a drunk dream.”

Laughing, Varric shook his head and left a small trail of kisses across Hawke’s face. As the fire dwindled they sat there, content with each other, until they fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Hawke process what happened last night with an awkward morning and argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and rather sad, but I do hope you like this new chapter as well. Thank you for all your kind words and kudos!

Sun hit Varric directly in the eye as it rose, stirring the dwarf from his sleep on the floor. He groaned and in the haze of his hangover felt a heavy arm wrapped around his shoulder. Right. _Right._ He turned to look at Hawke with blurred vision and felt a chill go up his spine. There was Hawke, head tilted and snoring, curled up in Varric's lap. The stone floor had not been kind to his joints during the night and Varric felt his legs tingle as he tried to move.

“Mmf,” was the only response he could get from Hawke at the moment.

It took a bit of shaking to wake up Hawke and when he did wake up, he froze. He was in Varric’s lap cuddled up to him like a dear lover (which wasn’t too far from the truth, not that he’d say it aloud). The two looked at each other before Varric cleared his throat.

“I see,” he said quietly as he tried to self-consciously pull back his hair.

The two men quietly and slowly got ready, Hawke forgoing shaving and washing his face for a chance to slide out of the room. Varric tried to let his daily routine go as unaffected as possible, but there was a feeling in the back of his mind he did something inherently, deeply _wrong _. Maybe he remembered the night wrong and he made Hawke uncomfortable. Maybe it was Varric who started the kissing, who kept it going and there was something wrong with him.__

__Later in the day, Hawke was greeted warmly by the people at the mess hall. People shook hands, congratulated him, clapped him on the back. He saw Varric from the corner of his eye and felt his chest grow tight. He had wanted this for so long, had yearned for it and now they were exchanging awkward glances. Like a cheap one night stand instead of something he had wanted._ _

__He didn’t expect a beautiful romantic moment where they held each other and gazed lovingly at each other. Clasping hands and lips lightly touching, Varric dipped in Hawke’s arms over the ashes of Kirkwall. Hawke didn’t want that, he just wanted Varric with his incessant jokes, crooked nose and bad teeth. He looked up and saw that Varric was gone already. Hawke looked at his food again and played with it dully. He sighed and put his chin in his hands before finally dropping his cutlery in frustration._ _

__Varric’s head was pounding and sending shooting pains through his skull. Stress and a hangover were not a good combination, especially with the knocking on his door. He looked and contemplated letting it go. It was fine. They were going to leave him alone. He stood up and sighed heavily._ _

__“I’m coming,” he grumbled before opening the door. His eyes grew wide. “Oh…”_ _

__The door closed behind Hawke, who began to…laugh. Varric stared at him with a raised eyebrow and felt his heart sink. This was what he was afraid of. He didn't want to listen to Hawke cover his emotions with humor again._ _

__“I didn’t realize we were that desperate,” joked Hawke as he sat down in a chair he seemed to claim as his own now._ _

__Varric could feel his heart breaking off into little pieces and as Hawke began to talk even more and make more jokes, Varric felt angry._ _

__“Hawke, _no_. Don’t you dare do this,” said Varric as he felt his face grow hot. “Don’t start doing this. Don’t deflect all of your private shit with humor.”_ _

__“I’m not. I’m just saying that we were being desperate and-“ stammering, stunned, Hawke tried to make an argument. And failed. Miserably._ _

__“No! I have done so much for you! I helped you when I didn’t even know you, just saw you get turned down by my asshole brother and then get pickpocketed like an idiot. I was there when Bethany left, when your mother died, when everything awful happened to you. And you were there for me. You helped me with Bartrand and the idol, hell if it weren’t for you I would have ended up in the same boat as Bartrand,” Varric was already pacing so much he could feel the rug wear under his boots and Hawke sat there, quiet. “I watched you throw yourself into all of what Anders-“_ _

__“Don’t,” interrupted Hawke. His voice was already beginning to waver. “Varric. Please.”_ _

__“I won’t. I tried to tell you, I tried to help, I was there for you as much as I could be. I watched you almost throw everything away for Anders and I protected what happened to him from the public. I didn’t tell the full story about what happened between you two until I was interrogated by the Seekers because if I had, you wouldn’t have been hailed the great Champion like you have been!” said Varric as he stopped to look at Hawke._ _

__“And I asked you to write a book about me? I asked you to tell all of Thedas what happened to me? How I failed my sister, how I failed my mother, how I couldn’t say the right thing at the right time so Merrill suffered?” yelled Hawke incredulously as he stood up to approach Varric. “Did I ask you to even approach me that day? Did I ask to be looked out for? And besides, you were just jealous of me and Anders because the only woman you had was a crossbow! You could have left in how we were lovers but you decided to put in the thing that I hate the most about myself for dramatic effect!”_ _

__“You didn’t, but I wanted a business partner to get back at Bartrand. You were perfect. And then you turned out to be the perfect friend,” sighed Varric sadly as he was suddenly unable to meet Hawke’s gaze. “I protected you and tried to help you. As much as I worried I still supported you and Anders. As much as I loved you, I sat back and watched you two be who you were. I loved you so much and I hid the relationship not out of jealousy but because of what had to happen, what I knew had to kill a bit of you inside as well. Records of what happened to him were easier to find than records of you two being involved.”_ _

__Hawke paused and his eyes grew blank. Varric’s face was as hot as a fire and he saw tears run down Hawke’s face before he felt the one on his own face. Hawke swallowed, tried to say something and fell silence the first time he attempted to speak._ _

__“Did you say you…you loved me?” he asked in a small voice._ _

__“Yes, for the love of the Maker, yes I do!” Varric finally yelled, almost laughing in relief as he felt a heavy weight melt from his chest._ _

__Silence. He could have sworn he heard Hawke’s heart beat more than anything Hawke was trying to mumble. Before he could even say something, Hawke was embracing him, body shaking as he began to sob. Varric supported his friend’s weight well enough but it was a relief to get him to sit down on the bed, at least so he could see Hawke’s face. Instead, Hawke buried his face into Varric's chest._ _

__“I’m so sorry,” whispered Hawke._ _

__"It's alright," said Varric as he rubbed his friend's back. "I forgive you."_ _

__"I love you too..."_ _

__Varric froze._ _


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback about the rebuilding of Kirkwall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!! Very short, but I hope it's something! Thank you so much for your continued support, kudos and comments!

After the fires stopped burning, Varric somehow found himself as an overseer of the rebuilding of Kirkwall. Of course he didn’t sit by and told people where to move rubble, oh no. He worked his ass off like everyone else did. His hands cracked and bled and he saw his fair share of physical and mental pain at the end of the day. Everybody out of the gang…the old gang, maybe…did.

Merrill busied herself with fixing the alienage, finding her pace in the ashes of a home she hadn’t wanted. Fenris walked out of his house in the daylight once and finally sated the curiosity of his neighbors. But they stood side by side and handed out blankets and food and what they could spare to the others in the city. Aveline was as busy as ever and stretched thin across the city. Then there was Isabela with her ship who still stayed behind and told children at the Chantry remains who couldn’t find their parents stories of swashbuckling and life on the sea.

And Anders was dead.

There had been too many bodies for proper funeral services, but those who attended the mass funeral could see him on the large pyre outside the gates of Kirkwall. People walked by as the last chance to identify missing loved ones, but Varric and his friends just stared down at Anders until it was time to begin the service. Other Fereldans saw him and cried. He saved their wife and baby when it was breech. He saved their son's arm that got infected. He got rid of their daughter's cough that she got on the boat crossing the Waking Sea. He got rid of headaches that had been going on since the Blight, pains and aches from battle and night terrors and bad memories.

Hawe was not there.

Varric, as he watched Anders’ body go up in flame back to the Maker, was angry. And Hawke wasn’t there to see it and grieve with them or let them comfort him. Stomping up to the doors in Hightown, Varric demanded to see Hawke. Bodahn only said Messere Hawke needed rest. Sandal asked after the nice feather man who did tricks.

Hawke didn’t hear the pounding on doors and voices. He knew Bodahn just didn’t know how to say no to people or to tell Hawke to stop pickling himself because people wanted to see the fucking Champion around the city doing his job. Not that he’d ever expect Bodahn to say something like ‘fuck’ ever. The thought made a small and painful smile crack across Hawke’s lips. He was going to drink himself into a stupor as long as Fenris was dropping off alcohol. Fenris, it seemed, was the only one who knew how to grieve in a healthy, fun way. Even if Fenris had not been around in quite some time.

Yeah, this was fun. So much fun Hawke could vomit, though he wasn’t sure if that was sarcastic phrasing or if he could actually vomit. No matter what, Hawke knew that he would see it all again if he closed his eyes. Burning buildings and screams in Lothering. His father with a sword through his chest. Carver being thrown around like a toy. Bethany pale with blood welling up in her eyes and pouring out of her mouth and nose, like the Blight was pushing it out. His mother, an unrecognizable and monstrous shell of her former self. Every time he failed his family and friends. All for some broken sense of justice.

_Justice._

The word hissed in the back of Hawke’s head and he felt his heart flutter in pain.

Varric one day, after more hard work and hearing people cry in the streets, decided Hawke needed to see this. That it just wasn’t his suffering. He had made it up in his mind that Hawke was going to come outside today and so the Dwarf marched up to the estate in Hightown and pounded on the doors. Bodahn opened it cautiously and tried to force a pleasant smile when he saw Varric.

“Ser Tethras, you of all people know Messere Hawke isn’t accepting visi-ser!” Bodahn squawked as Varric pushed past him. “Ser, please!”

“Hawke!” Varric yelled in the foyer, looking around for any signs of humanity. “Hawke!”

Silence.

“ _Garrett!_ ” Varric yelled once more.

Hawke’s face peeked out from behind a door. Sullen, sunken in, eyes half closed with messy hair and messy clothes. A slow, addled brain began to put pieces together as Hawke descended down the stairs. The two men stared each other in the eye and Hawke wobbled unsteadily on his feet.

“You smell like a pub,” stated Varric plainly.

“And?” Hawke snorted. “Nobody wants to see me.”

If Hawke’s vision was better, he would have seen the muscles in Varric’s jaw set and that familiar vein in his forehead just begin to pulse.

“Nobody wants to see me because the last time I saw them they all hated me for what I did to Anders. Even you,” continuing, Hawke began to gesture wildly as he stumbled to a table in the hall with a bottle on it. He held it up to the light to see how much it held before drinking deeply from it. “Anders is gone and nothing and I’m gone and nothing. And…I’m nothing. I can’t save anyone.”

Varric listened intently to the drunken sob story, grabbing the bottle from Hawke’s hands and pulling it away.

“You saved Kirkwall,” corrected the Dwarf. Hawke shook his head as he sat on the steps.

“You hate me,” was all the man replied in turn. Varric was taken aback, but remained quiet as Hawke went to sleep.

All Varric could do was stay. He went through the house as Hawke slept sprawled on the stairs, picking up bottles and tossing them into the gardens out back. The glass shattering didn’t wake Hawke and as the day was winding down Bodahn fixed a simple supper. Sandal helped Varric sweep up the glass in the garden that glittered like small gems. The boy kept some of it for whatever reason.

Hawke woke up complaining of a stiff back ( _Maker only knows why!_ Varric wanted to yell), a sour stomach and an aching head. He was able to drag himself to the table to eat. A silence washed over the two of them and Varric chewed his food quietly, eyes on his plate.

“You’re still here,” Hawke said coolly.

“Mhm. You need to stop this, see some sun,” replied Varric.

“I’m not a daisy,” chuckling as he spoke, Hawke forced a smile as Varric finally lifted his head to look at him. “I won’t wilt. You always want friends outside for somebody who hates nature.”

“Humor won’t get you out of this, Hawke. You need to face what happened,” Varric said curtly.

Pausing, Hawke looked at his friend with a blank look on his face. A quick mumble under his breath about how he did accept what he did later, and Hawke was up and already upstairs again. Varric sighed heavily, finished his meal and slept on a guest bed for the night.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being separated to find Hawke's Warden friend, Varric and Hawke reunite again in the Western Approach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I knowwww I haven't updated this in one thousand years. However, there's been some personal stuff going on in my life and writing anything that isn't small one shots has been really difficult for me. But that's behind me now and so hopefully I'll be able to write with more frequency! Yay! :)

Sand. Everything was sand. It snaked into shoes, snuck between metal and cloth and skin, flew into mouths and eyes when the wind blew. Varric had only one option the last mission, sitting in Skyhold chewing his nails until they bled when Hawke left Skyhold. It was a terrible idea to part with him now and Varric had begged to join the Inquisitor and his company to meet with Hawke and the Warden. In short, it was love that caused Varric to have small beaches of sand in his boots. 

They had paused for camp for the night and Varric stared into the fire as everyone else began to go to bed. Hawke was painfully close and in danger again, he was sure of it. They were both getting too old for this shit, for fighting and danger and adventure. A cough and the sound of Bull shifting his weight as he sat interrupted Varric’s thoughts.

“Worried about Hawke?” asked the other man conversationally. Varric started and looked up at him. “Are you still surprised when I notice shit? You two have been joined at the hip since he got to Skyhold.”

“We’ve also been friends for years,” replied Varric coolly. Bull chuckled and Varric tried not to look incredulous or defensive.

“I’ve been friends with Krem for years but I don’t think anyone is whispering about how I make starry eyes at him as we eat breakfast in the mess hall. Because I don’t love-well, I’m not _in_ love with him,” Bull raised his eyebrow as he spoke after drinking from his water bladder. “You and Hawke are in love and you act like you’re teenagers trying to not be the first to ask the other to dance.”

Varric stood up and dusted himself off, turning to go to sleep.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” said Bull quietly as Varric opened the flap to his tent. “It’s a good thing, really.”

With a stiff chuckle, Varric shook his head and began to prepare himself for sleep. He poured the sand out of his boots outside of his tent and began to pull off some of the leather armor he had on him. He listened to Dorian lightly snore through the canvas between them and smiled. Laying on his back, Varric knit his fingers together and stared up at the ceiling of the tent above him. He wasn’t ever particularly sure how it was a good thing to be in love. Varric was never fond of it and this particular feeling _hurt_ even after airing everything out between the two of them. Because after that night, not much had been between them. Even if they were together and inseparable (“joined at the hip”) there was still an aloof distance to Hawke.

They were both hurting for their own reasons for years at this point. Even if they helped each other and loved each other _being_ together was almost an unachievable goal. At least right now. _Maybe one day,_ Varric thought to himself as he turned over to make himself comfortable. Dorian’s snoring got distant as the Dwarf felt his eyelids grow heavy and hard to keep open. Thoughts about Hawke kept muddling together and Varric felt his brooding nature slip away until the last thought he had before going to sleep was how soft Hawke’s hair was.

_”I don’t understand,” Varric’s voice was soft against Hawke’s neck, lips barely touching against his skin. Rough hands ran over a scarred chest and the two men were almost motionless except for slow motions against each other. “You were gone for so long.”_

_Hawke felt his words catch heavy in his throat as he felt the lips move across his neck to the cup of his shoulder. Soft hair fell across both of their faces and he reached a lazy hand to grab Varric’s._

_“I couldn’t help it,” whispered Hawke. Varric pulled away. “I had to help everyone and couldn’t help myself.”_

_Varric shook his head and kissed Hawke chastely, hands on the back of his head. The two of them entangled themselves further and Hawke felt himself grab for sheets that were simultaneously under and around them. Varric chuckled into Hawke’s neck before sinking his teeth into his skin. Hawke laughed and pushed him away playfully._

_And screamed._

_Varric’s face was that of Malcolm Hawke, eyes deep set in his head and black. A grin flashed over his face and there was Carver. Skin hung from his face and his eyes were bruised. Then Bethany, crying blood. Then Leandra with foggy eyes as she gasped for air._

_“We are all the same, Hawke.”_

“Hawke!”

Yelping, Hawke pulled away from the hand that was shaking him awake. He looked up at Alistair and rubbed his eyes hurriedly.

“Sun is up,” offered the Warden cautiously as he examined Hawke’s body language. “You alright?”

Hawke nodded and stretched. He reached for the pieces of armor he took off to sleep and began to get ready for the last part of the trek to meeting the Inquisitor. Alistair began to pack up the few things in camp that needed to be packed as he did so. Hawke stood up and stretched again before strapping his knives to his back.

“You sure you’re alright?” asked Alistair again.

“Y-yes. Just…just dreams,” Hawke shook his head helplessly.

Nodding with sympathy, Alistair adjusted his armor and looked over the sand dunes. He put his hand over his eyes to block the sun from his vision. The two of them began to make their way to their destination slowly, trying not to exert themselves to avoid dehydration and exhaustion for when they did finally meet up with the Inquisitor. Nobody involved in this would go quietly. Varric found himself walking faster as they approached the stone ruins buried away in the sand and saw two figures nearby. It had to be them. He just knew.

“Inquisitor,” Alistair said tersely as the group approached. The voices grew distant as they began to talk privately.

Varric couldn't help but feel his skin crawl as he watched the Inquisitor square his shoulder and go forward across the bridge. There was a smell of old copper in the air, one that Varric knew as blood. He felt his body shudder in concern and he looked over across the way to the Wardens. A few members of the party recoiled in horror at the sight before them. The air smelled like blood and like crisp air that Varric felt like could have possibly been the Fade. He wasn't sure if that was the case or not. The magister before them spoke, words falling on deaf ears except some, and the group watched in horror as the Inquisitor doubled over, clutching his arm in pain as the magister spoke once more of the dreaded Elder One. Varric ran a hand over Bianca nervously and he looked at Hawke out of the corner of his eye.

One of the demons lunged forward and Varric was the first to strike, a bolt from his crossbow firing reflexively into one of the demons in front of him. He backed away cautiously, staying next to Dorian, and watched as the others jumped forward into the fray to attack. Varric paused as he saw Hawke fall onto the ground momentarily. A shade demon approached him from behind and Varric found himself speechless, beginning to run towards him. There was a yell from Varric's left and he turned to watch as Bull cleaved the demon until it fell apart into green dust. Hawke stood up and nodded at Bull appreciatively, saying something before blocking an attack from a Warden.

"Varric!"

Turning at his name, Varric saw another Warden with her sword drawn loom over him. He fell back in surprise and a bolt fired from Bianca. It missed her completely. Hawke yelled something wordless and Dorian sent a bolt of flame into her back, distracting her. Varric was able to right himself and fire another bolt. This one didn't miss. The smell of fresh air began to fall away as the demons fell away. The Wardens were easier work without their new pets to serve them. The Inquisitor stood over the carnage and wiped blood away from his ax as Alistair began to frantically speak.

"We have to find them!" he begged, gesturing to the bodies of the fallen Wardens at his feet. "This isn't right, Inquisitor. Please."

"I will absolutely help them," said the Inquisitor breathlessly. "Do you know where the other Wardens would possibly be?"

Alistair and the Inquisitor stayed away and the two of them broke off again to search and plan. Hawke approached Varric with a look of worry on his face, blood smeared across his face and breathing heavily.

"Varric, are you alright?" Hawke asked as he approached. Varric looked at Bull, who smirked.

"I am," Varric spoke as he tried to pull his mind away from the watchful Qunari. He reached for Hawke's hand out of worry before pulling it away. "Are you alright?"

"I'm alright, how are you doing?" Hawke sighed and brushed hair away from his eyes. He looked Varric up and down and a small, nervous laugh escaped him. "We're asking this back and forth."

Varric chuckled himself and shook his head, reaching to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly. He looked at Cadash as he approached before his eyes fell onto Hawke again.

"We have to head back to Skyhold," said the Inquisitor, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Alistair and Hawke will be joining us again. They’ll return as soon as they can, and can’t travel with us.”

Varric nodded as he holstered Bianca to his back again. He looked at Hawke once more and waved sadly. Hawke returned the wave and turned to leave with Alistair.

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably going to be a loooong work of mine, maybe one of the longest, and deals with a lot of flashbacks. It's also based off of my gameplay experience playing Dragon Age 2 and Inquisition. Thank you for reading!


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